


saving simon lewis

by firstaudrina



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon tried to envision himself sitting amongst all those moody, black-clad warriors and saying, <i>You remember that Raphael guy? He wasn't as bad as the other vampires trying to kill me for sport and blackmail. He only poked me with a knife a little bit.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from canon right before Simon is killed; instead thanks to Raphael he gets to hang onto his mundie card a little longer.

"Are you stupid?"

Simon had his hand on the doorknob of the Hotel DuMort's back entrance, heart pounding and grip slipping, when Raphael's voice pierced the haze he'd been in since he last left this hotel. Raphael sounded drawling and bored and certain already of his answer. Simon didn't turn, his fingers still resting on the cool metal.

"Everything's – I can't –" Simon struggled to overcome the panicky tension that had made a home in his chest. "There's something wrong with me. I need to be here. I need to see her."

"You're on a bad trip that won't end," Raphael said impatiently. "Camille did this to you. She's not medicine. She won't make it better. Go home."

Simon faced him, frustrated. "And what, wait it out like the flu?"

"Yes," Raphael said tersely. 

"I can't do that. I can't sleep. It feels like my skin is crawling, I can't control myself – you should see my room, it looks like a tornado went through it. I'm –" Simon faltered, embarrassed. "I'm seeing things, hearing things. I want – I want blood."

If Simon didn't know better, he'd think there was something akin to sympathy on Raphael's face. "It will fade. You just have to keep away from Camille."

Simon huffed a disbelieving laugh. "Keep her away from me. I didn't ask for this."

Raphael just looked at him, expression blank, before his eyes narrowed ever so slightly like he was trying to determine something. Then in the next blink he was gone. What happened after that happened very fast. 

Simon felt a forceful, unexpected tug on his sleeve and it caught him off guard, his position at the top of the small flight of stairs too precarious. He tripped and then he toppled, graceless and ungainly as he spilled down the steps, landing _hard_ in a pretzeled heap on the sidewalk. His glasses flew off and skittered across the concrete right before his body made impact – and there was a sound, an awful cracking sound followed by a rush of inflamed heat in his ankle that hurt so badly for a moment that nothing hurt at all.

When Simon opened his eyes, Raphael was looking down at him. "You should probably go to the hospital, huh?"

 

 

The next time Simon saw Raphael his cast was off and he was tentatively hobbling his way home from physical therapy on a leg that felt weirdly vulnerable without its plaster protection. Breaking an ankle wasn't exactly an ideal way for Simon to escape vampiric clutches, but it got him laid up and fussed over for a while and by week three he wasn't even dreaming of Camille anymore. It was even sort of nice after the high stakes stress of the last month to get coddled by his mom and sister, to get daily visits from Clary and Isabelle. It made Simon feel kind of normal again. 

Until Raphael once again leapt out at him from the shadows. Well, _emerged_ , maybe. Raphael didn't really _leap_. 

His sudden swoop out of nowhere almost startled Simon into another fall, but he was saved by Raphael's quick hand reaching out for his jacket. "Where are your stupid friends?" 

"I don't know, demon hunting? It's late. Why are _you_ here?"

Raphael was studying him critically. "You're the weak antelope in the herd, aren't they supposed to be circling the wagons around you?

"You're mixing metaphors like _whoa_ , that doesn't even – hey. Who said I was a weak antelope?"

Raphael just looked at him. 

"Clary can't babysit me every hour of the day," Simon told him. "I'm good now, all healed, no bloodthirst, vampire flu free." Which reminded Simon. "And wait a minute – you broke my ankle!"

Raphael shrugged. 

"You _broke_ my _ankle_ ," Simon said again.

"You're alive," Raphael reminded him. "Dead or a broken ankle, which do you think is worse?"

"You basically made me a sitting duck," Simon pointed out.

"I made you protected," Raphael corrected. "You just said it yourself. All healed."

"Right." Simon gave him an accusatory look. It wasn't like he expected logic from an undead monster of the night that fed off the blood of innocent nerds (not that Raphael seemed especially guilty of that) but it was still some kind of assbackwards sense. "So why are you here?"

"I need you to play ambassador to the Shadowhunters," Raphael said. "Camille is getting out of hand. She needs to be dealt with."

Absently, Simon's hand came up to rub his neck. "Yeah, you're telling me."

Raphael's gaze followed the gesture. "Don't worry," he said. "Time heals."

The marks were gone but Simon thought he could still feel exactly where they were, like the skin there was more sensitive than other places. "So I've heard."

 

 

Simon wasn't sure what Raphael expected him to do when it came to smoothing over Shadowhunter-vampire relations, particularly because Simon was neither one nor the other. Drop little hints? Talk up the group that had kidnapped and ate him? Simon tried to envision himself sitting amongst all those moody, black-clad warriors and saying, _You remember that Raphael guy? He wasn't as bad as the other vampires trying to kill me for sport and blackmail. He only poked me with a knife a little bit._

It just wasn’t going to work. 

Simon didn't even know why he was considering it.

 

 

Raphael pressed something into Simon's hand – something thick and solid, its surface smoothly carved. A stake, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ -style, except Simon wasn't a cute California blonde with serious ass-kicking skills so he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with it. 

"Your idiot Shadowhunter friends aren't going to be around all the time," Raphael told him. They were in Simon's hastily reassembled room, because Raphael had shown up here, in Simon's room, for some reason. "Camille likes to play with people. She isn't done with you just because she's out of your system. You need to know how to defend yourself."

Simon looked down at the stake in his hand. The pointed end was surprisingly sharp; when he touched it lightly it left a pinprick of blood on the tip of his finger. He wondered, for a second, if Raphael could smell it. Simon could still remember wanting to lick Maureen's blood from the broken glass of a picture frame. "I don't know how to use this."

A moment later Simon's legs were swept out from under him, sending a shooting pain through his bad ankle. He looked up at Raphael incredulously.

"I know," Raphael said mildly. "That's why I'm going to teach you."

 

 

Simon didn't tell Clary about Raphael appearing next to him on shadowed sidewalks or rapping impatiently at his bedroom window at night. Simon was used to telling Clary everything, texting her about his weird dreams when he woke up at three a.m. or debating band names first thing in the morning on the bus to school. Their friendship had been a lifelong continuous conversation that carried on whether they were together in the same room or not and it hadn't been interrupted until a guy named Jace walked into their lives. Now Clary was too busy to give all her free time to Simon. Now Simon was keeping secrets.

He didn't know why, really. He had gone through so much of the vampire thing on his own that it felt consigned to some secret, private part of his life that couldn't be shared. Plus Simon just couldn't explain any of it if he tried. 

"Why are you doing this?" Simon wondered, pushing away the feeling that it was something he shouldn't ask. "I mean, I'm just one guy. What does it matter to you if I'm turned into an appetizer?"

"It doesn't," Raphael said. "People exist besides you, you know."

It was the middle of the night (because, hello, vampires) and they were at some weird old timey gym in Harlem that Raphael had led him to. It was empty and dark and creepy as hell, and it was here that Raphael did his best to teach Simon to not die.

"Believe me, that is a thing I know." Simon tried to dodge Raphael but that vampire speed just couldn't be matched by Simon's out of shape mundane fumbling, so instead he ended up sprawled on his ass. He sighed, but Raphael reached down to haul him up to his feet again. 

"Your connection to Valentine's daughter makes you vulnerable," Raphael said in that slow way he had that made it seem like Simon was wasting his time just by existing. "You are a mundane, which makes you a snack. This puts you at an incredibly high risk when a power-crazy vampire is trying to get her hands on one of the most important artifacts in the world. And believe it or not, I don't want mundanes to die. It's messy, it draws unwanted attention, and it'll make the Clave crack down on us. This is not an outcome I am interested in."

Impressed, Simon told him, "I think that's the most you've ever said to me."

Raphael rolled his eyes. "I'm glad that's what you took away from it."

Simon grinned. "No, I get it," he said. "You're saving my life."

Raphael looked at him strangely. " _A_ life," he corrected. "It just so happens to be yours."

 

 

Simon began to notice things about Raphael. His hands were always cool any time he touched Simon, which wasn't often and was always casual – helping him up, pushing him around, trying to prove something to him. Camille's skin had felt like a pane of glass with the sun behind it, warmed by external forces, but no matter how much he exerted himself, even if there was a thin sheen of sweat on his skin after kicking Simon's ass for hours, Raphael was always cool to the touch. 

Not that Simon touched him often. 

 

 

Curiosity killed the cat, but Simon had already gotten close enough to death to be reckless about it. Raphael never came to see him on the same day or at the same time, never announced himself until Simon was being jerked awake out of half-remembered dreams. Raphael never shared anything about himself: thoughts, motives, plans, intentions. He was opaque as a tinted window and Simon wanted to know what was happening behind the glass.

"How did you meet Camille?" he asked. "How old are you?" and "How long have you been at the hotel?" and "Who made you into a vampire?" Every time Raphael gave him the slightest of eyebrow raises, the hint of a smirk.

"Why would I tell you?" was Raphael's favorite answer, and Simon never could think of a good comeback. Why indeed.

"You spend all this time with me, you gotta give me something," Simon tried once.

"I wasn't aware that was an exchange we agreed upon." 

Simon groaned, because Raphael was truly impossible, and then he made a decision: if Raphael wanted to save his life, then he was going to know just what he was saving.

So Simon gave it all away, all the stories and facts and small talk and nonsense he'd kept bottled up since this whole crazy adventure began. All of the meaningless little things he used to tell Clary that felt frivolous now in their new life-and-death existence. Simon spilled it all to Raphael and Raphael endured it like a person who had caught fire and was planning on dealing by ignoring it entirely. 

Finally, exhausted, he said, "Simon, why are you subjecting me to this?"

Simon spoke, as he often did, without consulting his brain much. "Friendship?"

Raphael snorted, his expression the picture of disdain. He warned, "I'm not someone who gets close to other people easily."

"That's cool," Simon said. "Me neither."

 

 

Television had taught Simon something about vampires who came knocking on your window at night. The one thing he learned was that you were never supposed to invite them in.

Simon guessed it was too late for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael closed his eyes and appeared to mentally count to ten if the tap of his fingers against the outside of his thigh was anything to go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to continue this a bit since people seemed interested!

"So," Simon tried. "You guys remember Raphael, right? He, uh, held a knife to my throat that one time? He wasn't so bad."

Simon was met with four blank faces, though the variety of blankness was telling: Clary's had a tiny quirk of concern, Jace's had a dash of amusement, Alec looked like he was fantasizing about his own torture and death, and Isabelle clearly thought Simon was insane.

Okay, maybe not so blank then.

"Simon," Clary said, green eyes traveling over Simon's face in bemusement. "What is this about?"

Maybe he was just waiting for that exact push from that exact person, because Simon finally spilled. "Thing is – He kind of, sort of…checks on me sometimes? After the whole Camille thing, I think he feels sort of responsible even though he'd rather be immolated than say so and…" Simon coughed. "He's worried about Camille, he wants to get rid of her."

There was a waterfall of Shadowhunter blinking in response. 

"Oh," Clary said finally. "Well, I think everyone would be on board with that. I mean, I definitely wouldn't mind sucker punching her once or twice or fifty times, maybe."

Simon smiled. "Clary Fray," he said. "You've become a very violent person."

"Yeah," Jace put in, looking at Clary fondly. "We're all real proud of her."

"Speak for yourself," Alec interjected. Then, casually, he added, "We could ask Magnus Bane about Camille. He does know her."

"That's true," Isabelle said, her tone even but eyes sparkling at her brother. "Maybe he has some…ideas."

Simon couldn't help a little bit of a beam. He obviously had mad ambassador skillz.

 

 

"You did _what_ ," Raphael said flatly.

Simon stared at him. "You told me to!"

Raphael closed his eyes and appeared to mentally count to ten if the tap of his fingers against the outside of his thigh was anything to go by. His eyes opened again and he said, "I made a suggestion, but I didn't expect you to go about so tactlessly. Am I to expect four seraph-happy Shadowhunters on my doorstep any day now?"

"Alec likes arrows, I think," Simon said, which was not really an appropriate thing to say. Simon wasn't great at appropriate, not always. "Look, you want her gone, they want to help, seems like a match made in heaven to me."

Raphael put a hand over his face like a frustrated cartoon character. "You're an idiot."

Simon was strangely unoffended. "You can thank me later."

 

 

The Camille thing went nowhere fast. Nibbling on Simon wasn't considered rulebreaking enough to earn an intervention; it probably would have been better if she killed him. Well, "better."

"Something else will come up," Raphael said in a strange moment of consolation. "She's not exactly careful with mundanes." He tilted his head a bit, watching Simon, and lifted an eyebrow. "Tell me something."

"Ask nicely," Simon shot back.

Raphael ignored that. "Why did you even try? Revenge?"

Such justifiable pettiness hadn't even occurred to Simon, which embarrassed him. "You said you needed me to play ambassador. So I played." He met Raphael's eyes, steady. "Why did you ask if you didn't really mean it?"

Raphael returned the look impassively. His answer, when he answered, was for a different question entirely. "For what it's worth, I think Camille's forgotten you for the moment. She's…capricious. She'll go after the Cup another way."

Simon was still studying him a little. "Small miracles." He paused. "Does that mean you won't be my sensei anymore?"

Raphael made a huffy sound like a laugh and rolled his eyes. "There are other things that go bump in the night. And you haven't exactly mastered self-defense yet."

"No," Simon agreed, chest feeling warm. "No, I haven't."

 

 

Simon was at a distinct disadvantage when it came to trying to spar with Raphael (who also made no attempt to pull his punches) but stubbornness was Simon's middle name and he wasn't going to give up easily. He paid attention to Raphael's irascible instruction and filed away all of his tips and eventually achieved success.

Simon managed to sent them crashing to the gym floor, his hands on Raphael's shoulders pinning him to the ground until a push from Raphael reversed their positions. Simon refused to be defeated _again_ so he shoved with every bit of strength he had and got Raphael underneath him again, brought the stake up and pressed it against Raphael's chest, right over his heart.

"Ha!" Simon crowed, victorious. "Say uncle."

Raphael leaned up into the stake's pointed end. "Uncle," he said. His lips formed the word slowly, tip of his tongue against his teeth, and there was something about it Simon couldn't pull his gaze away from. Something lush.

Simon cleared his throat and let the stake fall from his fingers, clattering dully as it rolled along the floor. "Um, yeah. So. I win. Simon Lewis, vampire hunter extraordinaire. You're dust, pal. Ashes to ashes."

Raphael raised a curious eyebrow but allowed Simon's rambling to reach its natural end. "You won _once_ ," he pointed out. Quick as a flash he had them turned over again, Simon's back on the cool, cool floor. "Do it again and I'll be impressed."

"My goal in life, impressing you," Simon joked weakly. 

Raphael just smirked at him.

 

 

Raphael had called him an idiot maybe five times in the last fifteen minutes, but that was actually pretty good for him so Simon was allowing it without complaint. He had reached a stage of being almost entirely unperturbed by Raphael, who spewed casual insults like some people asked about the weather. Simon was also kind of busy trying to stem the bleeding from his head wound. 

There'd been a mission to rescue Isabelle's Seelie ex from almost certain doom that Simon had been enlisted in; in turn, he'd enlisted Raphael, who dragged along a handful of vamps from the hotel. He'd only been able to help because Camille was currently out of town but it meant a lot to Simon that he'd made the effort despite the risk. In fact, Simon had been feeling pretty positive about the situation up until the scuffle had left him with a gash across the forehead and a faceful of blood he'd never be able to explain to his mother. It was embarrassing, really. The whole thing wasn't even anyone's fault, just stupid mundane Simon getting in over his head again.

As Raphael was happy to remind him.

"I know, I know, I get it," Simon mumbled eventually, annoyed. He was leaning in to catch his reflection in a truck window as Raphael escorted him home; the bleeding had stopped but Simon's face had seen better days. "My incompetence is staggering. I got the memo."

Raphael didn't respond so Simon looked at him, reflected in the glass over Simon's shoulder. Raphael's jaw was set, his expression hard. Simon had interpreted it first as annoyance but now he put two and two together and finally came up with four. As in Simon's blood plus Raphael is a vampire equals bad, bad news.

Simon felt his face heat up a little. "Hey, friends don't eat friends, right?"

Raphael blinked and then turned disdainful. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"Because you'd have to admit we were friends?"

"Because I'm capable of controlling myself," he snapped.

Simon turned to face him and Raphael's gaze immediately went to the cut on Simon's forehead, the drip of crimson on his temple. Simon didn't know how he missed it before. He also didn't know why he wasn't even slightly scared or grossed out or offended. He felt kind of the opposite about it.

"Don't be embarrassed," Simon started, a grin beginning to curl his lips as the joke unfolded, "if you find me irresistibly delicious."

"I could kill you just to make you stop talking," Raphael said flatly. 

"I mean, I'm sure this is like," Simon touched his face lightly and then held out his reddened fingers teasingly, "catnip for you guys, huh?"

Raphael was in Simon's personal bubble in a blink, close enough to be sharing breath – if Raphael breathed. Simon found he could never quite tell. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not," Simon said. Still not scared. He wondered if Raphael felt like this when Simon had the stake to his heart: certain of his safety. "Just being friendly-like."

"It feels like mocking."

"Maybe you're thin-skinned." 

Raphael searched Simon's face, anger writ on his features, but his gaze seemed pulled to the blood. He was close now, close enough that it was probably unbearable for him; as Simon watched, Raphael's lips parted a little and there were his teeth, sharp and gleaming, and the hint of his tongue. Simon's breath caught in something like anticipation but Raphael was gone as suddenly as he'd arrived.

"Are you good to get home?" he asked brusquely. 

They were just a block away. "I can handle it," Simon assured him. Raphael gave him a quick nod before speeding off and it was only then Simon realized his heart was hammering, his pulse racing. But he wasn't scared. 

 

 

"Do you kiss people?"

Raphael stared at him. He did that a lot. "What?"

"Is kissing people," Simon said, "a thing that you do?"

Raphael blinked slow and suspicious, his lip curling. "Why?"

_Why do you think?_ Simon wanted to ask. He could almost hear the words spilling out in a challenge. Instead he shrugged. "I don't know anything about you."

Sometimes conversations with Raphael felt like one of those scenes in a movie where an actor had to aerobicize their way through a web of lasers just to grab some mystery treasure on a pedestal. There were a million wrong steps to make, a million wires Simon could trip, and he wasn't even sure that the treasure, once he got it, would be what he wanted. He always felt like he was trying to break some code as he puzzled out Raphael's enigmatic expressions and half-answers. Now was no different.

"Not everyone feels the need to write their autobiography for every new person they meet," Raphael said. 

Simon's sigh tripped into a laugh and he shook his head. "Yeah. Well. I don't need a whole book, I wouldn't mind a blurb."

"Your problem is that you have all these expectations with people," Raphael told him. "You want so much. It's so visible. How can someone give you anything when what you want is everything?"

Simon flushed. "I never – I didn't _ask_ for any of this. I didn't ask to be kidnapped and held hostage and _fed on_ and followed and 'protected,' full air quotes, just because you felt guilty or whatever –"

"I _didn't_ ," Raphael said tightly. "What would I have to feel guilty about?"

Simon shrugged, arms spread wide, at a total loss. "If it's not that, then what is it? Why are you _here_ , Raphael?"

Raphael's jaw locked and he looked away, seeming suddenly young and sullen. "Simon –"

But Simon didn't bother letting him finish. Instead he stepped forward, grabbed Raphael by the face, and pulled him in for a kiss that was too hard, slightly off the mark, and impossibly awkward. Awkward until Simon looped an arm around Raphael's neck and pressed in close, until Raphael's deer-in-headlights reaction relaxed and he kissed back. His mouth was surprisingly soft considering all the sharp things that came out of it.

"I have been known," Raphael said, when they pulled apart, "to kiss some people sometimes."

Simon smirked, already leaning back in for more. "Lucky me."

 

 

It was risky, maybe, what Simon was doing. It was definitely stupid. He found himself staying up late at night, waiting for a tapping on his window that didn't always come. But when it _did_ – 

The seize of Simon's heart, the speeding of his pulse. The flip of anxious excitement in his stomach at the knowledge that Raphael could probably hear it, that he could tell exactly how Simon felt around him. Maybe he could always tell. 

Simon didn't mind the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [veronicaesque](http://veronicaesque.tumblr.com/) (graphics, fic updates) or [firstaudrina](http://firstaudrina.tumblr.com/) (main blog). :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For two people who weren't dating, Simon and Raphael sure did a lot of making out in Simon's bed.

"What do people do with vampire boyfriends?" Simon wondered. "Can we go to movies? Do you ever go to get a burger? Or is it just, like, tragedy and angst and weird horror show pregnancies?"

Raphael looked as though he regretted ever climbing through Simon's window. "I don't think you have to worry about getting pregnant," he said slowly. "Particularly considering you do not _have_ a vampire boyfriend."

Simon rolled his eyes; this was a line he was getting all too used to hearing. "Right, right, right," he said. "Well, I hate to break it to you, pal, but your hand is in a pretty friendly place for being not someone's boyfriend."

Raphael closed his eyes and shook his head, but he was almost laughing. "Shut up," he said, but he said it into a kiss. 

 

 

It was strange having a secret that was just Simon's, a secret that didn't belong to anyone else. Growing up any secrets he had were shared with Clary behind cupped hands and through giggles, and they were never anything that mattered much. The only thing he'd ever kept from her before was that he loved her, but even so he'd said it enough. She just never quite heard it right.

He had begun to wonder if Clary felt like this when she was first figuring herself out, when she acted like Jace was the only person on the planet who got her and Simon felt so shut out of everything. Now he went to class and tapped his pen absently against his paper the whole time, letting the professor's voice act like a soundtrack, thinking of Raphael. Now Simon waited for nightfall. 

The problem was that Simon had never been particularly good at keeping things to himself. He could feel it waiting behind his teeth with everything he said to her. _By the way, I'm not-dating a vampire. Remember when I told you that I don't just like girls? You like Raphael, right? Well, that's good, because I'm sort of crazy about him._

When it happened, it was so stupid, such a non-moment: Simon hung back to get the door for Clary and when she thanked him with a smile, instead of saying something normal like _you're welcome_ , Simon blurted, "I'm dating Raphael."

Simon expected shock or discomfort, maybe a well-meaning warning. Instead all Clary said was, "Well, he does really like you."

"He?" Simon repeated. "Really likes me?"

Clary giggled and put her arm through his. "Don't act so surprised, you're the one who's dating him."

"Yeah, but –" Simon was dumbfounded. "How did _you_ know?"

"Telepathy rune," she said mysteriously. Simon must have looked appalled because she laughed again and bumped her shoulder into his. "Kidding! I don't know. He looks at you a lot. I figured it out." She gave him a little smile. "Sounds like you figured it out too."

"Yeah." Simon was still slightly dazed. "Yeah, I did."

"Are you happy?" she asked. The littlest crease of concern appeared between her brows. "I mean, is he nice to you?"

_Yes and no_ , Simon thought, and smiled. "It's good," he said. "It's –" He couldn't find any other words for it, voice going slightly strangled as his cheeks pinked, and Clary laughed so sweetly. 

 

 

For two people who weren't dating, Simon and Raphael sure did a lot of making out in Simon's bed.

It was funny how things like that just sort of took over. One kiss, and it was goodbye to everything else, all the other excuses they made to spend time together. Raphael would take off his jacket and fold it over Simon's desk chair, step out of his shoes and then climb into Simon's bed. It was an incongruous place for him to be, the site of so much teenage moping and reading and studying, the place Simon felt safest in in the world. He had never brought anyone back to his room before Raphael.

Still, Raphael was very insistent that nothing serious was actually going on. "Camille would _love_ that," he said, hand stroking idly over Simon's chest, voice spiky with bitterness. "Her little _caramel_."

Simon swallowed a prickle of discomfort at hearing those words from Raphael. "So, what, you need to wait until you've taken the Iron Throne before you can use the word?"

"No," Raphael said slowly, like Simon was stupid, "I'm not using it because it is inaccurate. We aren’t _dating_."

"Right," Simon said. "Why was it you saved my life, again?"

Raphael sighed. "Simon."

"Just asking."

Raphael's mouth eased over Simon's, a hint of his teeth in the kiss. "I can think of better ways to pass the time the time."

Who was Simon to argue that?

 

 

The most obvious outward sign that Raphael was not entirely what he seemed were his nails, overlong and claw-sharp – and _desperately_ in need of a mani, according to Isabelle. He ran their pointed tips lightly over the sensitive inside of Simon's arms, following the tracery of veins.

"I met Camille when I joined the New York clan, after I was turned," Raphael told him. "I was born in 1933. I've been at the hotel since the fifties. It doesn't matter who turned me. He's dust."

Simon shivered under the slow pass of Raphael's nails, wanting to reach out and touch the shape of Raphael's lips as they moved, gave things up. This was a big deal. Simon knew that. 

"Do people ever do it because they want to?" At Raphael's inquisitive eyebrow raise, Simon elaborated, "Turn."

Raphael was silent for a moment. "Some," he said eventually. "But it's hard to tell what you want when it's happening. You remember."

Simon often wished he couldn't. "Yeah. I guess I would've been up for anything when I was, uh." He cleared his throat. "Do you ever want to? With me?"

Raphael's fingertips paused in their steady back and forth. "Why?"

"I don't know. Isn't that like a vamp thing?"

"I wouldn't, Simon," he said. _Wouldn't_ felt like a significant choice of words.

Mouth dry, Simon asked, "Even if I wanted you to?"

"After what happened to you, you're really going to ask me to bite you?"

"Well, see, that's the difference," Simon told him. "I'm asking."

Raphael's eyes raked over him, maybe searching for another meaning in what Simon was saying, a catch. They were close in Simon's bed, under blankets, but Raphael was still alluringly cool to the touch; Simon couldn't help wondering if sharing a little bit of blood would warm him. 

"I wouldn't feel right about it," Raphael said finally. Before Simon could quell his unexpectedly sharp disappointment, Raphael was leaning in to brush his lips over Simon's neck. He didn't bite but the edges of his fangs scraped over Simon's skin, a pain like a pinch that was immediately alleviated by the gentle press of Raphael's tongue over the scratch. "I can smell your blood, you know. All the time."

"Things serial killers say for five hundred," Simon said breathlessly. Raphael nipped him a little harder at that and Simon laughed, even though the situation hardly called for it. 

"She'll be gone soon," Raphael promised suddenly; Simon didn't have to ask who he meant. "We have a plan in place. It won't be long."

"And then you'll be able to take me to the vampire sock hop without recrimination." 

Raphael snorted. His mouth was still at Simon's throat, worrying over the shallow wound he'd made. It wasn't like Camille. Whatever was happening between them was already a heady feeling, Simon didn't think a little sexy biting was going to make it any worse. "Come on, Raphael. Just do it."

"If you're so eager for a little bloodshed…" Raphael brought one of those razor nails to his own neck and moments later blood welled, darker than Simon's. "You can do it to me."

Everything in Simon jolted at that, and he was leaning in before he could think twice.

 

 

Raphael didn't often text him, so perhaps Simon should have thought more of it when he got the message _Camille gone. Come to the hotel_. The problem was, as always, that Simon was too eager, too excited; he wanted to know what happened. He wanted to see Raphael.

Perhaps Simon should have thought more of it when he got to the hotel and it was empty, no vamps stopping his progress as he made his way through the dusty hallways. He wasn't entirely stupid, though, despite his lack of observation skills and apparently vanished sense of self-preservation; the deeper he travelled into the hotel the more his skin prickled with uncertainty. Finally he called, "Raphael?"

"No, darling," Camille said. She was little more than a dark shape in a dark room, drawing closer fast. "Just me."

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. 

 

 

The next thing Simon knew he was sitting up and it was cold and his head ached something fierce. He felt like his brain had been replaced with wads of cotton batting. It was like waking from a nap, the ultimate disorientation, and for a long minute Simon had no idea where he was or what had happened. 

There was dirt on his hands and arms and clothes. It was caked underneath his fingernails. It was dark and wet, clinging heavily to his skin, and he could smell it, taste it, before he realized it was blood, blood mixed in with the dirt. He looked up, eyes adjusting too quickly to the dark, and realized for the first time that he was outside. He was outside and covered in dirt and there was blood in his mouth. Clary was sobbing into Jace's chest. 

Raphael was standing so far away. 

 

 

Raphael collected him and brought him back to the hotel, cleaning the grit from his skin and giving him clothes to change into – a black V-neck, pants that were an inch too short. "You did this to me," Simon said, an empty accusation. Raphael's face was blank.

"It's my fault," Raphael said eventually. "She did it to get back at me for what I did."

"Where is she now?"

"Don't worry about it," he said automatically. Then, "Underground."

Dully, Simon said, "She sure went out with a bang, huh?"

"Simon –"

"It was your blood that saved me, wasn't it," Simon said. "From dying, I mean. Just dying."

Raphael didn't say anything.

"If you can call this saving," Simon mused. 

 

 

Simon packed up his old room faster than he expected – not vampire fast, just carelessly fast, throwing stuff into bags and making little distinctions between what he kept and what he left behind. He felt a shocking lack of sentimentality over saying goodbye to his childhood bedroom.

His mother stood in the doorway. Simon could smell her blood. It was all he was thinking about, actually, and maybe that was why he couldn't find it in him to care about which mint condition comics had to come along to the Hotel Dumort. What did it matter when all he could smell was rich copper, when all he could picture was red spilling out from his mother's split neck? He could taste it, even – blood wet in his mouth. It took him a moment to realize he had bitten his own tongue.

Simon swallowed and tried to focus on the task at hand as his mother's distressed voice washed over him. 

"You're moving to a hotel in Harlem? That's so far, Simon."

"Couple trains," he murmured. "Good stuff up there."

"And this boy you're moving in with – Rafe? I don't remember you ever mentioning him."

"Raphael." Who had been surprisingly cool and removed in the wake of Simon's rebirth into one of the gruesome undead. Typical, really. Raphael made sure he was fed and taken care of, but that was it. He probably would have done the same for any fledgling. Which was what Simon was now. And forever. Like _Cats_.

"It's so out of the way, the commute to school will be crazy," his mom said. Simon wished she would just _stop_. "I know you're going through something lately but if you would just open up and let me –"

This was a test. Raphael told him he wasn't ready to go home so soon, even for twenty minutes to get his stuff, but Simon had to do it, had to see if he could. There must have been some steel in his shaky spine because Raphael had looked at him for a long moment before merely nodding and letting him try. But he'd added a _don't come crying to me if you eat your family_ , because he was Raphael.

"Mom." Simon closed his eyes and opened them. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'm not on drugs. I'm taking a break from school. I don't have to pay rent. I need to do this right now."

His mother seemed to sense that he wasn't looking for alternate opinions because she only sighed heavily and said, "At least bring this boy around for dinner sometime, hm?"

 

 

"You're avoiding me."

Raphael had a good excuse for doing so, or good enough; becoming the acting leader of the clan had heaped enough responsibility on him that his plate was full. Still, Simon felt lonelier living in the same place as him than he had when Raphael was just his nighttime visitor. And honestly, if anyone was going to get sent into a downward spiral over what happened, it should be Simon.

"I'm not," Raphael hedged. One look at Simon and his shoulders dropped, gaze fell. "It's my fault."

"I mean, sort of," Simon said. "If innocent bystanders can be to blame for the actions of one psychopath." 

"What you said after –"

"I'm new at this, I'm allowed my confusing and conflicting emotions." 

Raphael sighed. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Simon nodded. "You're telling me."

"I shouldn't have –" Guilt was clearly an uncomfortable and unfamiliar mantle for Raphael Santiago. "I didn't approve of what Camille was doing from the start and had I not complied with her initial plans to bring you in –"

"I don't blame you for what Camille did," Simon interrupted. "I blame you for disappearing on me when I needed you."

Simon was aware that words like _need_ made Raphael uncomfortable but he was less inclined to care about that now that he'd died. Raphael lifted his gaze again and met Simon's, more visible in it than Simon could ever remember seeing on his face before.

"I didn't want you to change," Raphael said.

There was irony in that. "Now I won't," Simon told him.

 

 

On one of the gold couches, Raphael turned Simon's hand over in his own, tracing the joints and lines. "Will I feel like myself again?" Simon's voice did a funny thing when he asked that, a strange little croak. Would he ever feel like himself again?

"Yes," Raphael said. "Something like it."

Simon endeavored to try. "What about food? Because I'm not so sure I'm ready to sign up for an eternity without garlic bagels. I don't know how long it's been since you've had one of those, but _man_. Heaven on a plate."

Classic Simon Lewis nonsense patter.

"No food," Raphael said. He paused. "No garlic."

"Mm." Simon looked at him, his bowed head and unhappy mouth. "What about this? You and me?"

Raphael's fingers slipped between Simon's, interlocking, and he finally met Simon's eyes. "There's time to figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert they're just in love forever.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [veronicaesque](http://veronicaesque.tumblr.com/) (graphics, fic updates) or [firstaudrina](http://firstaudrina.tumblr.com/) (main blog). :)


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